Homes have become temporary shelters I seek refuge until I can return to the places I truly belong. No, it is not necessarily the place I keep my belongings. It is a sense of belonging. After living and working in dozens of digs along the coasts of California, France and Washington, I’ve learned to reduce “home” to the basic elements that put my soul at ease. I feel it when I picnic in the shade of a spring tree. I feel it when I dive in to the clear pools of my youth. I feel it while walking below a canopied forest reminiscent of summer’s spent in the Redwoods. I feel it while I imbibe the foggy shores of the Puget Sound where I learned how to become an adult. I feel it each and every single time I capture an image exactly the way I saw it. I feel it anywhere and everywhere I have a paper and pen in hand.
Every time I return to these sort of places, I can almost taste how it felt the last time I was there. I can remember who I was then, and who I am becoming now. Home, then, is actually the person I am in any of these places; it is the feeling of ease with being exactly who I am meant to be in this world. So, do not be afraid of what, where or how you feel most at home because it is exactly how you will find where you belong in this world. Whatever your home feels like, write it in ink. Because, when you understand home this way, you can be free to be at home anytime and anywhere you are.
Originally Published in Dear Lois Magazine, Issue 2
